


You Make Known To Me The Path Of Life

by ItsaVikingThing



Category: Warrior Nun (TV)
Genre: F/F, Picking up where that cliffhanger left off, Post-Finale, Some Fluff, Some angst, Some humour, Working through feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25955440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsaVikingThing/pseuds/ItsaVikingThing
Summary: In times of uncertainty, Beatrice trusts in God's guidance. Faced with the revelations at Adriel's tomb and barely surviving the battle at the Vatican, Beatrice and her sister warriors have had most of their certainties shattered.Beatrice still has two, though: she's certain of God, and she's certain that she has the kind of feelings for Ava Silva that she should not.For Beatrice, wrestling with those opposing certainties is more daunting than battling any demon...
Relationships: Sister Beatrice/Ava Silva
Comments: 74
Kudos: 381





	You Make Known To Me The Path Of Life

Beatrice is frozen.

She watches Mary vanish beneath a tide of snarling, punching, clawing Possessed. She knows that the next few seconds will be crucial, she knows that she needs to act, but she doesn’t yet know what to do.

Before any mission, Beatrice will gather every scrap of information she can find and commit it to memory. She’ll work on everything that could go wrong and construct appropriate contingency plans with her team. But what makes Beatrice normally able to act even when things go wrong, is the knowledge that she _can’t_ prepare for every eventuality. There are always unknowns, always things she cannot anticipate, and things she cannot see.

The truth that frees Beatrice to act even in the most dire circumstances is, of course, this: when Beatrice steps into darkness, she need only follow God’s guidance and her feet will always stay on the true path.

Adriel represents a darkness like no other Beatrice has experienced. She has no idea what Adriel is, other than a lie. Beatrice has never seen so many wraith demons appear so quickly or act so brazenly before. The fact that Adriel felt the need to summon them makes Beatrice think that he _is_ vulnerable to the halo and its bearer. But...he’s survived in a sealed tomb for centuries. He recovered from the onslaught of the Sister Warriors in mere seconds. He understands the halo better than they do. He’s had a chance to assess their abilities, while they’ve yet to take his full measure.

And their current Halo Bearer has a good heart, but none of them know what Ava is capable of, least of all Ava.

Beatrice knows that she needs to act, but she doesn’t. She is unable to decide between fight and flight. If they stand their ground now, they could save Mary. They might even be able to overwhelm Adriel. Somehow. But...Ava’s inexperience and lack of training counsel Beatrice against fighting. There’s too much at stake: the safety of the people the Wraith demons have invaded, the safety of her sisters and Ava, and the security of the halo itself. Beatrice may know very little about what’s happening, but she knows that if Adriel wants the halo, then she’ll do everything in her power to prevent him acquiring it.

After a second’s thought, the greater part of Beatrice is leaning towards _flight_. But she still doesn’t move, because there’s another darkness she’s wrestling with, one that exists in her own heart. It makes itself known in the form of a question that slithers between Beatrice’s frantic thoughts, disrupting her calculations. Is her instinct to get Ava to safety about protecting the halo and serving the greater good, or is it simply about protecting _Ava_?

Ava who she nearly kissed.

Beside her, Camila whispers a prayer and Lilith steps forward, arms spread, fingers claw-tipped, her whole being focused on the pile of struggling bodies Mary is buried under. Beatrice sucks in a breath. She has no idea what to do, but they have to do _something_ , so she moves to follow her.

“Wait,” Ava suddenly says, her voice low and urgent. “Hang back.”

Lilith snaps her head round to face Ava. “We are _not_ leaving Mary--”

“We’re not,” Ava agrees, nodding at Lilith. Then she turns to Beatrice. “I think I can get Mary out. Trust me?”

“I…” Ava’s eyes are full of life and light and purpose. Beatrice feels a warmth spread through her, thawing her limbs, stilling her thoughts. Beatrice feels the ground become certain beneath her feet. “I do.”

“Wow, really?” Beside them, Camila’s crossbow _twangs_. Ava giggles nervously. “So, uh, I know you’ve probably made a dozen plans for getting us all safely out of the Vatican. If you take care of that, I’ll use _my_ plan to save Mary.”

Beatrice catches her arm. “And that plan is…?”

“You’ll love it, it’s very detailed. It’s called…” Ava’s grin is strained, but light spreads like wings from her back, almost as luminous as her eyes. “Going out with a bang, not a _wimple_.”

Before Beatrice can respond, Ava phases through her grip, raises her sword and charges into the frenzy of bodies yelling, “GET OUT OF HERE, ASSHOLE DEMONS! SHOO!”

The halo in her back flares, filling the courtyard with a light so intense Beatrice has to shield her vision. She’s rocked by a wave of force like the one she felt at the Cat’s Cradle when Sister Crimson tried to kill her and Ava intervened. But where that was like being swatted at by a sudden gale, _this_ feels like being slapped by a hurricane.

The concussive force lasts only for a second. It takes a few more before Beatrice’s senses recover. She finds herself blinking away phosphor dots, lying on the ground in a heap with Camila and Lilith. They’ve been pushed back to the fountain Ava had supported herself on earlier. After a quick check to make sure that her sisters aren’t badly injured, Beatrice pushes herself to her feet and staggers back to the courtyard, fumbling a knife from her bandolier.

A weapon proves unnecessary. There’s no sign of Adriel or Father Vincent among the stunned people mounded around the flagstones. She spots Mary, tangled with a Swiss Guard and a Japanese tourist, unconscious, bleeding, but breathing. The only person still standing is Ava, who slices the sword back and forth through the air, yelling incoherently. Just as Beatrice is wondering how Ava has any strength left after that blast, her shouting tapers into a sigh and the sword falls. It clatters when it hits the stone, loud in the looming silence. Beatrice drops her knife and forces her battered body into a run, but before she can reach her, Ava collapses.

Beatrice is by her side in the next instant, rolling her over, checking for a pulse. When she finds one, Beatrice is unable to check the impulse to push a tangle of Ava’s hair away from her face, to smooth it down, then run her hand across the soft curve of Ava’s cheek. The heel of her palm comes to rest against the corner of Ava’s mouth. Ava doesn’t wake up, but her skin is warm and her breath skitters across Beatrice’s wrist, and that’s enough. She tells herself it’s enough.

“Beatrice.” It’s a moment before Beatrice becomes aware of Lilith standing over her. The strong planes of her face are alien beneath her grey-streaked hair, but her nails are human and Beatrice can see her sister in Lilith’s eyes. “We need to move.”

“Yes.” Beatrice clears her throat, moving away from Ava. She nods at Camila, who is watching their backs, her crossbow ready. “We should dispose of our visible weapons and find a crowd to blend into until we can get out of the Vatican. We won’t be the only nuns helping wounded people out of this mess. After we get clear...we can’t risk any sanctuary the OCS knows about, so we’ll need to find our own shelter for the night.”

“Agreed.” Lilith nods. When Beatrice begins to stand though, she waves her back. “I’ve got Mary. Ava will want you when she wakes up.”

Her tone is neutral, but Beatrice still has to focus for a second to breathe through the tightness in her chest that the word _want_ conjures. She looks at Ava, finding no injuries and a peaceful expression. Beatrice’s hand moves almost of its own accord, reaching for Ava’s face. Instead, she turns and snatches up the divinium sword, squeezing the hilt as tightly as she can, filling her fingers with an ache that only hurts physically.

She relaxes her grip when Camila comes to her with the sheathe, letting the pain fade away and devoting herself entirely to ensuring the survival of her friends and her sisters.

* * *

It’s a relief to Beatrice that it only takes a minute or two for Mary to come back to herself. Even if she’s unsteady on her feet she has enough of her wits about her to play a wounded tourist, helping them slip Ava past the Swiss Guard and the police, then out of the Vatican and into the city and the lowering night.

Beatrice focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, as she and Camila support Ava’s unconscious body. Beatrice has Ava’s arm across her shoulders. Her other arm is around Ava’s waist. She lets Lilith take the lead, guiding them through and then away from milling crowds and watchful eyes, counting the passing seconds in her head.

Seven minutes pass, and then seven more.

Ava remains dead weight on dragging feet throughout, silent but for her near inaudible breath. Beatrice holds on as tightly as she can to the knowledge that Ava is alive, and counts the seconds so that she can’t study the more complex mathematics represented by the geometry of Ava’s curves where they meld into and part from Beatrice’s body.

The streets become quieter, and seedier, as Lilith leads them deeper into one of Rome’s less picturesque neighbourhoods. Beatrice’s relief at leaving behind the many organisations that would want to detain them is tempered by the loss of cover. In the chaos around the Vatican, their little group didn’t stand out too much. Here, where it’s less busy, they’re that much more obvious, and the trouble they might attract isn’t limited to law enforcement agencies.

Mary is walking under her own power, but she’s clearly in bad shape. She sways and stumbles, only kept upright by Lilith’s hand darting out at frequent intervals to steady her. Lilith never once looks directly at her, apparently busy scanning the streets for signs of danger or prospects of shelter. But she never once lets Mary fall.

“Beatrice,” Camila gasps, almost stumbling as she tries to adjust her grip on Ava. “We need to stop.”

“I know,” Beatrice mutters. She takes a breath, pushing away the burn in her lungs and the ache in her muscles. She takes another, making sure her voice is even and certain this time. “Lilith. A venue or a vehicle. Now.”

Lilith flashes her a look. “There’s an alley here. I’ll scout while you rest.”

The alley is an abstract of shadows painted by the single bulb of a security lamp that burns above the fenced-off court of a shabby office building. Mary leans against one wall, watching Lilith stalk off into the shadows. Beatrice and Camila manoeuver Ava against a brick wall, lowering her into a seated position. The loss of Ava’s weight only seems to double the pressure on Beatrice’s shoulders. The candle of her adrenalin burned out what feels like hours ago. All she wants to do is sink into a waxy puddle on the ground beside Ava and sleep.

But the others are counting on her, so she takes a moment to clear her mind and straighten her spine before she speaks. “Are you alright, Camila?”

“Y-Yes.” Camila wipes sweat from her brow. “I just need a minute and I’ll be ready to move again.”

It’s obvious that she’s perfectly sincere. It’s equally obvious that she’s spent.

“There’s no shame in acknowledging your limits,” Beatrice says gently. “Don’t burn reserves tonight that we may need tomorrow. Lilith and I will manage Ava.”

Camila’s shoulders droop. “Yes, sister.”

“Camila.” Beatrice touches her shoulder. “You’ve done well today. And I know you’ll do well in the days to come. I’m glad you’re with us.”

Camila’s answering smile burns bright, cutting through the darkness.

“Are we going to talk about those days to come?” Mary rasps. She keeps her attention focused on the place where Lilith left their view. Her voice is more tired than pained, but Beatrice doesn’t like the way she’s favouring her left side. “We got played. By fucking _Vincent_. He’s responsible for...and now there’s Adriel--God knows whatever he really is--running loose. Oh, and let’s see: we got kicked out of the Order, Duretti’s the Pope, we bombed the shit out of the Vatican, we’ve got nothing to offer Doc Salvius, so...where exactly do we go from here?”

Beatrice looks at Camila. She nods, then slips away, moving to keep watch at the mouth of the alley. Beatrice leans against the wall beside Ava, and sighs. “I don’t know. Not yet. The entire Order has been deceived for centuries, Mary. I have a great many questions and very few answers.”

“You have _answers_? Start there, then. Doesn’t matter how few you have, I’ll take what I can get right now.”

“I only have this: our ultimate mission doesn’t come from Father Vincent or from Adriel or even Areala. We still know where to turn for guidance.”

“Oh, god.” Mary wearily rubs her face. “God.”

"Mary!" Beatrice sighs. “Our path from here will be more difficult than ever, but I don’t regret choosing it.” She glances at Ava, checking to make sure that she’s still breathing. “He made sure that none of us have to walk this path alone. I take comfort in that.”

“Yeah, that’s what I get for asking a nun’s advice. Shit.” Mary sighs. She wraps an arm around her middle, then turns enough to look at Beatrice. Her lips hitch into a wry little smile. “I guess the company could be worse.”

Beatrice inclines her head. “For tonight, I think we should take the opportunity to rest and regroup.” Beatrice raises her eyebrows and quirks her lips. “I also think that we should continue to mind our language while conducting God’s business.”

“Oh for the love of…” Mary snorts, and some of the tension in her shoulders ebbs away. “Okay. For now. But expect that to change when we catch up with that piece of--”

Ava coughs. Beatrice quickly kneels beside her, touching Ava’s chin and tilting her head up. Ava’s eyes snap open, all pupils and panic until she focuses on Beatrice. Her features soften into a warm smile that Beatrice guiltily realises she has begun to crave.

“Hey,” Ava croaks. She swallows. “Hi. Did you like the pun? I mean, uh, the plan. Did we make it? Are we alive?”

“Hello, Ava.” Without thinking, Beatrice cups Ava’s face, stroking her cheek with her thumb. For a moment, she savours the feel of Ava’s skin, the way she leans into the touch, the way her eyelids flutter closed for a moment, the tiny breath of her sigh. In the next instant, Beatrice snatches her hand away. She clears her throat, swallowing down a wad of shame and guilt. “Yes, we made it. Yes, we’re alive. And yes.” Beatrice can’t help the warmth that enters her voice. “I liked your terrible pun.”

“Okay. Good. Good. Uh, is everyone else…?”

“We all made it out.” Beatrice glances at Mary, before her attention is inexorably drawn back to Ava. “Almost all of us in one piece.”

Mary mutters something Beatrice chooses not to hear.

“Okay then! And, uh…ha!” Ava touches Beatrice’s knee and waggles her eyebrows. “Let me guess, you carried me away from danger again? That’s getting to be a bad habit of yours.”

“I'd prefer not to have to do it again. But that is a habit I can take up without any reservation,” Beatrice says, her voice soft but certain.

“Oh.” Ava stares at her, her smile fading. “Oh?”

“Uh huh, yeah, great. You’re awake.” Mary crosses the alley and sinks down next to Ava, groaning. “I'd be more thrilled about it if I didn't have to listen to you try to be funny.”

“Try? Please,” Ava snorts. She wriggles closer to Mary and drops her head onto her shoulder. “I’m hilarious. And we all know you like me.”

“I like you better when you’re quiet,” Mary grumbles. She rests her head on Ava’s.

Camila looks over her shoulder at them. She focuses on Beatrice for a moment, and her teeth flash in a smile. “Glad to see you’re feeling better, Ava,” she says sunnily, before returning her attention to the street.

“Thanks, Crossbow Queen. Hey, Mary?” Ava nudges Mary with her elbow, provoking a pained groan in response. “Could you not go running into a mob of demons or whatever and almost die like that again?”

“No promises. Ugh.” Mary winces and touches her ribs. “I’ve got to uphold my reputation as the biggest badass you’ve ever met.”

“Oh, in that case you really should stop trying, because you’ll never be as badass as Beatrice.” Ava grins her most thoroughly smug grin. “You didn’t see her take on three psycho nuns in the catacombs earlier. I was terrified, but she just ran in there and was all _bam_ , flip, _pow_. You know? I bet none of us can even _say_ badass in as many languages as Beatrice can.”

“I haven’t made a point of learning that kind of language, Ava,” Beatrice interjects wryly. But she’s barely holding back a grin of her own. “I appreciate your confidence in me, but I was concerned about the odds too.”

“See what I mean?” Ava turns to Beatrice again, her eyes liquid and bright. “That just makes you even more impressive. There’s no point in trying to compete, Mary. Beatrice is the best.”

It’s said lightly, almost certainly as a joke, yet Ava’s words warm Beatrice through.

“Suuure. I could tell you some stories from training that might make you change your mind about your supposed badass,” Mary snorts. She looks at Beatrice over the top of Ava’s head, her expression shifting into a slight frown. “...huh. But maybe you know Beatrice better than I do. In some ways.”

Beatrice looks away, her throat closing. She makes an effort to eradicate whatever expression was on her face when she was looking at Ava.

“I know all sorts of things better than you,” Ava mumbles, blinking sleepily. “I may not have much life experience, but I have _TV_ experience. There’s all kinds of crazy shit on TV, and for a long time it was just me and a television full of crazy shit. We were best friends. None of you nuns or semi-nuns can compete with my knowledge of crazy TV shit.”

“Uh huh,” Mary says dryly. She skewers Beatrice with another look, the corner of her mouth lifting in a knowing smirk. “I see Ava is getting a pass on the potty mouth. You playing favourites here, Beatrice?”

“No,” she answers, much too quickly. “That’s not...Ava hasn’t joined the Order. Yet. She isn’t bound by the same rules.”

“Neither am I, technically,” Mary points out dryly. She chuckles. “You can do better than that, Bea.”

Beatrice doesn’t dare look at Ava. She looks down instead, at the cracked, uneven concrete beneath her feet. She breathes in, then out, just a little too quickly. She stands up and in an almost perfectly calm tone she says, “I’m going to look for Lilith. You two get some rest. Camila will keep watch.”

“Sure. Sounds good,” Ava says, slumping further into Mary’s side and closing her eyes.

“Hey!” Mary snorts. “Ava, I swear, if you start snoring I’m shoving you off me.”

“At least...there’s no cliff this time,” Ava mumbles around a yawn.

Beatrice decides not to question that, not at a moment when she’d rather avoid further conversation. She pushes herself to her feet, offering a quick nod to Camila, then makes her way deeper into the smothering gloom of the alley.

* * *

Beatrice finds a broken door set in a recess about halfway down the alley. She pushes it open, mindful of the splinters around the broken locking plate, and enters an empty hallway. She proceeds cautiously until she finds another open door, which leads to a big room full of bulky shapes that loom out of the shadows.

“Lilith?”

“Here,” Lilith answers, emerging from behind a heap of what Beatrice thinks must be boxes. “It’s a warehouse of some kind. I’ve checked and it’s empty. I took care of the alarm, so we should be safe until dawn.”

“Good.” Beatrice tries to match Lilith’s dispassionate tone. “Ava’s conscious. But we might need your help moving her.”

“Of course.”

Lilith strides confidently between the stacks of goods in the warehouse, placing her feet with an ease that suggests she can see more easily than Beatrice can in the near lightless space. Beatrice stretches out her arm when Lilith nears her, making her stop.

“What?” There’s a hint of impatience in her voice now, and that’s encouraging, if only because Beatrice has heard that irritation directed at her many times in the years that they’ve been friends.

“How are you?”

For a moment, the only sounds Beatrice can hear are her breath and her unsteady heart. Then Lilith steps forward and grasps Beatrice’s hand in a desperate, crushing grip.

Beatrice doesn’t flinch. She breathes steadily, making sure that pain won’t register in her voice before she says, “We’re with you. We’re all with you.”

After a moment, Lilith nods. She lets Beatrice go, then strides out of the warehouse without a word. Beatrice takes a moment to massage sensation back into her fingers before she follows.

* * *

It takes a little prodding to wake Ava up, but she’s able to move on her own again. While Camila secures the door, Mary produces a couple of flashlights from one of her coat pockets and tosses one to Beatrice. She and Lilith set to scavenging for supplies: they find a couple of boxes full of novelty onesies, which they repurpose as bedding and blankets. Beatrice finds a break room with a water cooler and a stash of snack bars. It doesn’t make for much of a dinner, and she feels a little guilty over the theft, but the food helps as much for the experience of sharing a meal as for its nutritional value.

They don’t talk. They sit in a circle around the flashlight, Lilith and Mary with their shoulders occasionally touching, not quite looking at each other. Camila sings for them, her voice soothing and sweet. Beatrice looks away when Ava shucks the leather and chainmail of her Warrior Nun gear, and remains fastidiously avoidant while Ava climbs into a bunny onesie. Ava pulls the hood low over her brow and keeps her head down after she’s finished eating. When it’s safe, Beatrice spends too much time glancing at Ava, feeling more than a little guilty every time she steals a glimpse of Ava’s sombre face past the shadow of her hood.

It isn’t long before they switch off the flashlights, burrow into their respective nests and chase sleep. Beatrice sidesteps any arguments about whether or not they should be keeping a watch by not raising the subject. She decides to stay awake tonight, and hope to catch up on her sleep tomorrow in whatever transport they’re able to secure.

In the darkness and the silence, Beatrice tries to stay alert. After an hour, though, her mind begins to wander, and no matter which way she tries to turn them, her thoughts find their way to Ava. And perhaps it’s true that the devil is in the details, because where she _should_ be thinking about Ava’s safety and training, Beatrice’s mind insists on cataloguing other things.

Things like: the feel of the downy hairs at the nape of Ava’s neck under Beatrice’s fingers; the near endless array of terrible jokes that trip off her tongue; the ease with which Ava smiles and can make _Beatrice_ smile; how perfectly her ear fits between Beatrice’s thumb and index finger; her clumsy, endearing kindness; how earnest she becomes in the face of criticism; how full of life she is in every moment, every gesture, every look...

Beatrice thinks of the laughter and the pain and the private pieces of themselves they’ve already shared. She makes fists in her cocoon of onesies, and thinks about Ava seeing too much of who she really is and yet finding her _beautiful_. She thinks about how her pride in Ava phasing through twenty feet of stone had melted into something tender and _wanting_. She thinks about the fullness of Ava’s lips, inches from her own, and how she had been a breath away from leaning in and kissing them. And then she digs her nails into her palms until it stings, because she can’t afford to think about the way that Ava looks at her sometimes, with such an abundance of affection, with a searching curiosity that makes Beatrice’s heart giddy.

Beatrice forces her eyes open, but there’s only enough ambient light to lend the darkness around her texture, not shape. She tries to clear her mind, to force her heart back to its regular, plodding beat, but any hope of finding peace is shattered after a few minutes when she hears someone get up and pad quietly away, deeper into the warehouse.

Another minute ticks by, and there’s no indication that whoever left is coming back. Beatrice’s stomach tightens. She couldn’t see who snuck away, but she recognised her by the imperfection of her stealth. That and a thrilling, terrifying instinct which identified Ava the moment she stirred and which urges Beatrice now to seek her out.

It frightens her how badly she wants to find Ava. She wants to comfort Ava in her distress, as she would any of her sisters, but Beatrice can’t deny that she wants more than that. She wants to share a private moment before they go back into the world and all its dangers. She wants to be close to Ava, to touch her and draw away her pain, to make her smile, to make this night and every other one they’ll share a little brighter with her presence.

Beatrice _wants_. 

She wants more than she should, more than she can have. She swore vows of poverty, obedience and chastity when she became a nun, and she didn’t swear them to a priest or a faith or even to the Church. She swore those vows to God. To break them would be to break something vital inside herself.

But then a treacherous thought intrudes: hasn’t her entire existence been shaped by the belief that she is already broken? She’s been clinging to the jagged pieces of her soul, trying to make them fit into a shape that has never been her. She wonders, for the first time without complete dread, what would happen if she were to simply let go.

“You make known to me the path of life,” Beatrice whispers, her voice shaking.

She waits, hoping.

Another half a minute passes in near silence. Near, but not absolute: Beatrice can hear Ava in the break room, trying to stifle the sounds of her sobbing. Half a minute of that is all she can stand before Beatrice curses herself for being a selfish coward and climbs out of her makeshift bed.

* * *

Beatrice finds Ava sitting on the countertop in the break room, hugging her knees to her chest. She’s illuminated by the orange glow of a street light which filters through the room’s grimy window. She’s shrugged off the upper half of her onesie, and the tank top she’s wearing leaves her arms exposed. The way the light brushes across her skin makes her look like a Renaissance painting. She looks small and unbearably vulnerable, too. She looks up and tenses as soon as she realises that she isn’t alone, but relaxes when she recognises Beatrice.

“Sorry if I woke you,” Ava says sheepishly, wiping tears from her cheeks.

“There’s no need to be sorry,” Beatrice answers easily. Because suddenly it _is_ easy, to silence her doubts, and to walk across the dim room to Ava. She leans her hip against the sink a foot from where Ava is sitting. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

“I don’t blame you.” Ava rests her chin on her knees. “Today was a lot, huh?”

“Well...for one thing, I didn’t expect when I became a nun that I would one day detonate explosives in the Vatican."

“Yeah, that’s probably frowned upon. I bet there's all sorts of rules they teach you in nun school: don't run with scissors, don't curse, don't set off bombs in the Pope's house..." Ava winces, quickly shaking her head. “I'm sorry. I don't mean to joke about it. How mad are they going to be with you?”

“I’d say that my chances of being returned to the Order or given a nice, quiet reassignment are thoroughly...blown,” Beatrice says, raising her eyebrows expectantly.

“Oooh. Awful.” Ava coughs out a laugh. She sits up and rubs her face briskly with her palms, then gifts Beatrice with one of her brilliant, dizzying grins. “The worst yet. I love it.”

“I owed you for earlier.” Beatrice says, smiling. She feels some of the tension that had pooled in her body in the last hour drain away. She eases a few inches closer to Ava. “Our thing is trading terrible puns, isn’t it? And I take my commitments very seriously.”

“I’ve noticed.” Ava shifts, lowering one knee and letting her foot dangle off the edge of the counter. She studies Beatrice, her expression becoming wistful. “I haven't really had a thing with anyone since I was...”

“What?”

“Oh, you know. A kid.” Ava grimaces, her jaw tightening. Then she shakes her head, dismissing the ghosts of buried pain. “I’m glad I have a thing with you. I know this has been...actually, I don’t know what the right word is to describe all the ways the last few weeks have sucked. But I’m still glad I met you.”

“Me too.” Beatrice clasps her hands together, because it's that or touch Ava. “So...do you want to talk about it?”

“Meeting you?” Ava makes a show of frowning. “Y’know, now you mention it, weren’t _you_ the one who drugged me? That’s actually kinda messed up.”

“True, but it was hardly the most messed up thing that happened that day,” Beatrice says calmly. “And I hope you know that it won’t happen again.”

“I...yeah, I do.” Ava’s face is thoughtful, but she shrugs one shoulder playfully. “Still kinda messed up.”

“It was. And it was also necessary, in the circumstances. But you know that our first meeting is not what I meant.” She lets go of her resolve of moments ago and reaches out, brushing the last traces of Ava’s tears away from her face with her knuckles. Her voice is steady, and very soft, when she says, “I want to help. If you’ll let me.”

“Shit." Ava lets her head fall back, hitting the wall with a dull thud. “I don't even know...it's just, I thought I was going to die.”

Beatrice nods. She puts her hand on Ava’s knee, but she doesn’t squeeze. She doesn’t want to exert any further pressure on Ava. Her touch is all it takes for Ava to pour out the whole story of her time alone with Adriel, and how she almost let him take the halo.

“I thought giving it up would kill me. Or maybe just...” Ava reaches out. She interlaces her fingers with Beatrice’s, slotting their hands together. “The thing is, I was okay with dying. Maybe dying. Whatever. You want to know why?”

“I do,” Beatrice assures her. She runs her thumb in circles across Ava’s skin.

“I thought Adriel was a real angel, and that if I gave him the halo, he’d save the day. I thought he’d…I thought _I_ was saving you. Instead, I made everything worse.” She makes an awful, clenched noise in her throat: it might be a sob or a laugh. “I thought I was being brave, but I was just running again, wasn’t I? Taking the easy way out as soon as it was offered.”

“Ava--”

“Lilith tried to stop me, and she was right! But I wanted to believe for a minute: in angels and God and that I really was some tiny part of a bigger plan. But it’s all bullshit. I wasn’t chosen by a divine power. I obviously don’t have any kind of destiny. I have no skills and no idea what I’m doing, and _that’s_ why Vincent fought so hard to make sure I kept the halo. You need a real Warrior Nun, and I’m...nothing but a burden.”

“You are not a burden, Ava.” Beatrice strokes her thumb across Ava’s skin. She moves closer to Ava, her knee brushing against Ava’s leg. She takes a breath, offers up a silent prayer and says, “Which you’d know...if you weren’t too busy indulging in self-pity.”

“What? Self--” Ava’s jaw works silently for a second as she processes. Suddenly she bursts out laughing. “Ugh! You are so _mean_ to me sometimes!”

“Just honest.” Beatrice says, smiling as relief courses through her. She uses her free hand to blot out a fresh tear before it can roll down Ava’s cheek. “I know you appreciate it.”

Ava sighs. “I’m not sure _that’s_ true.”

“I am,” Beatrice says simply. “You’re still working out who you are in some ways. But when you make a mistake, you try to learn from it. You try to be better. That’s...a rarer quality than you might think. It takes real strength to be the way you are, Ava.”

“I…” Ava swallows, her expression stricken. “I made a _really_ big mistake today though. How do I make _that_ better?”

“You can start by recognising that being willing to sacrifice yourself for the good of others is the _opposite_ of taking the easy way out. You were deceived, but you were hardly alone in that. We all had good intentions, and we were all deceived. You _were_ alone in that tomb though,” Beatrice says, hoping that Ava doesn’t notice how her voice shakes, “and Adriel tried to use your empathy against you. He recognised your goodness, and tried to take advantage of it. And he _failed_.”

Ava hangs her head. “He didn't. He got out.”

“And so did we, with you and with the halo. _Because_ of you. Now we get to prepare and rejoin the fight when we’re ready. And we will be."

" _How_?" Her voice cracks, spilling all her doubts into the air around them. "I don't know how to--"

"You learned how to phase through twenty feet of stone in a _day_. You have so much potential, and I...we will help you realise it in the days ahead. Ava! You are not a burden. You are a miracle.” Beatrice gently grips her chin, tilting her head up so that their eyes meet. “God brought you back. He has a purpose for you."

"How do you _know_?"

"I don't," Beatrice says, offering a smile. “It's called faith for a reason.”

“Ha! I’m not sure I...but I’d like to think it’s true.” Ava looks at their linked hands. “I’d like to think he brought me to you.”

“He did,” Beatrice says without hesitation. It’s only after she says it that she begins to perceive what that might mean. “He did. I’m...sure of it.”

“Yeah? Do you think he was punishing you?” 

“Ava,” Beatrice chides, “you know I think nothing of the sort.”

“Sorry. I still sort of suck sometimes,” Ava mutters.

“We all have our moments,” Beatrice says, feeling selfish for admitting it. 

“Yeah. I guess it’s good to remember that we’re allowed to be messy sometimes. Right?”

“Yes,” Beatrice says, her voice thin and tinged with doubt. She’s done her best to avoid _messiness_ for the better part of a decade. Her...lapse in telling Ava about her pain is a regret and a spur: she’s greedy to share more with Ava, to hear more about how Ava finds her beautiful.

She’s so afraid, even now, that Ava won’t.

“Hey. You don’t have to be perfect all the time.” Ava shifts her head, narrowing the already tiny gap between them, and she studies Beatrice. Her grip on Beatrice loosens, though she doesn’t let go. Her face warms with affection. “You’re incredible, pain and mess and being kind of a meanie sometimes and all. I’m a better person for knowing you. I’m better the better I _get_ to know you. I don't know about God, you know? Not sure how I feel about all that, but I have faith in you, Beatrice. You make it easy to fall--uh, follow you.”

“Oh.” Beatrice breaks eye contact, half-hoping to break the moment with it. She’s too warm, too weak, too pitiful. She fumbles for words, and blurts them out in a panic. “Well, ah, yes. It’s...as I told you: we’ll always be with you, wherever your path takes you. It’s our duty.”

She wishes that she had said almost anything else. Watching Ava’s face fall, she wishes fervently that she was capable of being half as good as Ava seems to think she is.

“Right," Ava says, her voice becoming tight. "Uh, yeah. We. Meaning everyone! Of course. And, uh, when I said I thought I was saving _you_ earlier, I meant everyone too! I wasn’t just thinking about, you know...you.” Ava gestures wildly. “Not that I wouldn’t save you! If I could, I’d totally save you. I mean if, uh, I had to choose between a puppy and you, I’d be torn--because puppy! But I’d choose you. Ah, but who’d threaten a puppy? Even other demons would think a demon that threatened a puppy was a real dick, right? I mean, have you seen puppies? They’re pretty great.”

“They are,” Beatrice agrees fondly. She’s relieved to find the gravity of the preceding moments reduced, some of the heaviness lifted from the atmosphere. But she finds Ava’s specific pull no less than before.

Ava swallows. Her hand is very warm and very soft in Beatrice’s. “You’re better than puppies. Is what I’m saying. I guess.”

“Thank you,” Beatrice says slowly, not wanting to waste the second chance she’s been gifted. “That might be the nicest compliment I’ve ever been paid.”

She isn’t sure what she reveals in her voice, but Ava’s face lights up. She slides off the counter, landing nimbly on the balls of her feet. She’s close, close enough that the air Beatrice breathes is warmed and perfumed by her. “I’m pretty sure that means you haven’t been getting enough compliments in your life. Which...tracks with the whole parents dumping you in strict Catholic institutions and you being trained to be a self-sacrificing nunja thing, but it’s also _sad_! That was a weak compliment. I can do better. I _will_ do better. You are going to be receiving a _lot_ of compliments from here on out.”

“I...” Beatrice chuckles, though it sounds strained, forced. There’s a heat blooming in her chest, spreading to her cheeks, and she wants to step back, to hide herself in shadow. But Ava’s still holding onto her, so Beatrice holds her ground. “I don’t need compliments, Ava. You should focus your energies on your train--”

“Hey, no. Seriously. I wouldn’t have got through any of this without you,” Ava says, her voice neither loud nor forceful, but earnest and intent enough to silence Beatrice. “You are amazing and you are beautiful and you are important to me. I need _you_ to believe _that_. Okay?”

“You’re...too kind,” Beatrice says, retreating into the icy shadow of banal politeness that her parents have always wielded with tactical precision, especially when Beatrice was being what they defined as _difficult_. She hates it, hates herself for it, but this has become too much: Ava is too honest, too close, too warm. “It’s nothing.”

She’s persistent, too. She further narrows the gap between them, an invasion of her personal space to which almost all of Beatrice wants to surrender.

“I’m not being kind, just honest,” Ava says, her voice so quiet that Beatrice has to lean in a little to hear her.

She’s considering how to reply when Ava looks up at her, and time seems to distort. Beatrice feels frozen, trapped in stone. Ava moves though, slow and deliberate as she stretches up and kisses Beatrice. 

It’s just a brief pressure of lips, mostly against her cheek. But Ava catches the corner of Beatrice’s mouth, too, and it doesn’t feel accidental. Beatrice feels lightning in the places where her skin touches Ava’s, and her heart begins to thunder in the wake of that brief, chaste kiss. Ava pulls back, but not away. She looks up at Beatrice again, her cheeks reddened, and smiles shyly. She curls her fingers around Beatrice’s, squeezes gently, then releases her. 

This is a language that Beatrice has no fluency in, but she finds herself able to grasp Ava’s meaning quite clearly. She finds herself briefly stunned to discover that she is understood. Beatrice’s voice is strained when she says, “I...take my commitments seriously, Ava.”

“I know,” Ava says, sounding not sad but maybe wistful. She seems resigned when she takes a step back, one arm curling instinctually around her middle. “You don’t need to explain. I get it.”

“No, it’s not...that. Well, it is in part, because I don’t yet know how to be anything other than a nun.” Beatrice swallows. She feels impossibly clumsy when she reaches out and scoops up Ava’s soft hand in her sweaty one. “But I’m trying to tell you that: I am committed to you, Ava Silva. In a very different way than I am to my sisters.”

Saying it makes her think she’s about to throw up. Saying it feels like letting go of something she’s struggled against for too long. It turns out that letting go feels very much like setting down a burden to which she’d only ever partially anaesthetised herself.

“Uh…” Ava’s eyes widen. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips. “Okay! I...wow. I like the sound of that kind of commitment.”

Somewhat plaintively Beatrice says, “I don’t know exactly what it _means_ , though. I only know it’s true.”

To her surprise, Ava laughs. “Jes--uh, shit. I mean! Shoot? Look, I don’t know what _anything_ means. I’m learning, though. And if _I_ can learn to do the whole life after death with superpowers thing, there’s nothing stopping you with your Bea-plus brain from figuring out...this. Us. Us? If you’re saying you want us to be an us.” Ava blows out a shaky breath, then frowns. “Wait, you’re clearly a genius, with an A-plus brain, but then it wouldn’t be a pun. On your name? Which is what I was--”

When it becomes clear that Ava is likely to carry them far from the immediate point on a tide of nervous babble, Beatrice finds that she has the power to move again, and acts in accordance with her instincts.

“Shh.” Beatrice cups Ava’s face, touching her thumb to the corner of Ava’s mouth. Ava stops moving, stops _breathing_ , and stares at Beatrice reverently. Beatrice permits herself this much: she brushes her thumb across the length of Ava’s lower lip, revelling in the puff of breath that spills out of Ava in a gasp. “You’re right. I want...us. But I’m not sure how to reconcile everything I’m feeling. Not yet. But I’m willing to figure it out, if you’ll--”

“I’ll be there, every step of the way,” Ava promises.

“I hope so,” Beatrice says, laughing softly. She allows herself to cradle Ava’s face in her palm, and to cradle this moment in her heart. Then she lowers her hand, and folds away her wonder and her longing and her awe. “Well. For now the first step is: you should go back to bed. You need to rest.”

Stubbornness changes the angle of Ava’s jaw, lending her kindness and her loveliness a different aspect, offering a glimpse of her strength. “ _We_ should go. You need sleep, too.”

Beatrice sucks in a breath, ready to argue the necessity of keeping watch. But Ava’s expression tells her that not only is she seen, she has been seen through. Beatrice sighs, and allows her body to sag. “You’re right. I’m exhausted.”

“Then let’s get you back to your bed,” Ava says firmly. She guides Beatrice out of the dimness of the break room, into the darkness of the warehouse, and to their sleeping space in near perfect silence. She places a whisper of a kiss on Beatrice’s palm, murmurs, “Good night,” and leaves her to sink into a warm pile of softness.

Beatrice lies awake for a while longer, her mind racing her heart. In a way, very little has changed. In a sense, technically, she hasn’t broken any vow. But Beatrice knows that everything has _begun_ to change: Ava has planted a seed in her heart, and Beatrice has pledged herself to tend it and let it grow.

The chambers of her heart are not opaque to God. The seed is not a secret, and technicalities are no saving grace in His court.

Beatrice lies awake, waiting, until she hears the sound of Ava mumbling in her sleep. Beatrice smiles, because she knows then what she has to do. She listens to Ava’s breathing even out. She lets the sound of it guide her along a path that carries her to a deep and peaceful sleep.

* * *

Morning finds her rested and strangely content, for all that she knows that she has more problems to solve today than she did last night. Perhaps it’s simply knowing what she’s working towards that helps.

Beatrice rises with a smile, which widens when she sees Ava still tangled in her bedding, softly snoring, a mess of limbs and hair and life and beauty. They’ll have to move out soon, before any workers show up, but Beatrice thinks that they can give Ava a little more time to rest. Particularly since her sisters are already awake, and have begun to tidy away some of the evidence of their break-in.

The realisation that her sisters are, in fact, mere feet away, talking in low voices over a breakfast of protein bars, causes crystals of ice to bloom in Beatrice’s chest. She turns to them, finding that they are all watching her, and the cold spreads through her, numbing her limbs and withering her smile.

Camila is smiling, wide and pure and happy. Lilith is seemingly indifferent, but there’s a hint of a frown tugging at her brow and her lips. Mary’s expression is smug and, to Beatrice’s horror, entirely _knowing_.

Beatrice tries to speak, but there’s a jagged lump of ice where her throat used to be.

“Have a good night, Bea?” Mary chuckles, rising from the crate she’d perched on and tossing a protein bar at Beatrice. “Can’t remember the last time I saw you smile like that.”

Beatrice almost fumbles the catch. She stares down at the wrapper in her hand, turning it around and pretending to consider the nutritional information. “I...slept well.”

“After your talk with Ava, you mean?” Beatrice looks up, startled. Mary smirks. “What? She’s loud.”

“We didn’t eavesdrop,” Camila says quickly, shooting Mary an exasperated look. “We were, ah, concerned when we realised you were both missing. Once we knew that you were both okay, we left you to it. Talking, that is!”

“Oh,” Beatrice croaks, feeling wretched. “Yes. Ava...needed counsel.”

“Is that what you’re calling it now?” Mary says, grinning.

Beatrice turns away, busying herself with picking up her makeshift bed. Behind her, she hears Lilith hiss something that sounds like _idiot_. She isn’t sure if she hears footsteps approaching or if it’s the sound of her pulse pounding in her temples, at least until a bottle of water is thrust into her line of sight.

Beatrice blinks up at Lilith. She hugs the mound of rumpled fabric to her chest, accepts the bottle with a quick nod, and reluctantly stands up. Lilith stares at her intently. It’s hard to parse her expression, but Beatrice stiffens under her gaze, feeling sharp and brittle.

“Beatrice,” Lilith says, quiet but fierce, “Your happiness is ours, sister. We love you. _All_ of you.” She snorts, her lips compressing into a bladed smile. “So don’t worry about Mary. You know she can’t help herself sometimes.”

Something does break inside Beatrice then: the ice that had locked her spine and coiled round her guts. She manages nothing more than a nod and a weak smile, but apparently it’s enough. Lilith squeezes Beatrice’s arm.

“Right,” Lilith says briskly, tugging the bundle of onesies out of Beatrice’s arms. “I’ll deal with those. You can wake Ava.”

She needs a moment to gather herself first, but waking Ava is simple: Beatrice crouches beside her and touches her shoulder. Her eyes flutter open, focus on Beatrice, and she smiles the smile that Beatrice craves.

“Good morning,” Ava says, yawning and stretching.

Beatrice glances at her sisters, who are all very carefully pretending not to watch. She sighs, then she smiles at Ava. She brushes a strand of hair out of Ava’s face, letting her fingers graze Ava’s skin, letting her touch linger. Beatrice knows as she does that she is seen and understood by everyone in the warehouse. She fits Ava’s ear between her thumb and index finger, and treasures the happiness she feels which she can see reflected in Ava’s expression. 

“A very good morning,” Beatrice says warmly, certain to her core that it is.

**Author's Note:**

> I've barely written a word in the past five months, and I really did not imagine that Warrior Nun would be the show that got me writing again, but there we go. This was both a struggle to write and a relief to finish. It would aid me enormously in feeling more of that lovely relief if you'd leave a comment letting me know what you thought.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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